Hobo Trail
by FemaleChauvinist
Summary: Edward is gone. Carlisle has his work to distract him, but Esme is alone with her thoughts all day. And so Carlisle takes her where both of them may be able to do some good.
1. untitled beginning

**Disclaimer:** While the attempt has been made to be medically accurate, some artistic license has been taken, and statements made by Carlisle are not to be regarded as authoritative.

Recognizable characters and plotlines are the property of Stephenie Meyer; all original characters and story © 2016 FemaleChauvinist. Cover drawing © 2016 FemaleChauvinist.

 _Do not post without permission. Do not copy/print without including the above disclaimer in its entirety._

 **A/N: See my DeviantArt account for the complete version of the cover picture. (I have the link on my profile, in case they ever get them working again…)**

 **This story is a series of one-shots, so it's possible I may eventually add another even after I mark it complete. (I don't have any ideas for anymore right now, but you never know!) Barbie**

 _1930  
Edward gone for two years_

 **Carlisle**

I walked home slowly, my mind still on the newspaper article I had read on my break. It told how men who had lost everything were "bumming" rides on trains, traveling aimlessly in hope of finding work. I shook my head; there couldn't be any kind of medical care in those "hobo jungles."

I reached the house and paused on the doorstep, mentally preparing myself before stepping inside. _Edward, if you can hear me —_ I broke the thought off, knowing he couldn't. If he was close enough to hear our thoughts, Esme's would have brought him home long ago.

When I first walked in, the house appeared to be empty. But I knew where I would find Esme; the same place I had found her so often lately. Softly I climbed the stairs to Edward's room and pushed open the door.

And there she was, sitting at his deserted piano. I eased onto the bench beside her. "Esme?"

She sighed, leaning her head back against my chest. "Is he ever going to come back, Carlisle?" she whispered.

"Of course he is," I replied, wishing there was more conviction in my voice. I reached around her and began playing softly with one hand. I might not have Edward's genius for composition, but I could play fairly well. "Esme, love, it isn't good for thee to sit brooding all day like this." The plan that had been playing at the back of my mind suddenly crystallized. I had to get her out of this house…among people who needed her to mother them. I was coping by thinking about my work; Esme needed a distraction as well.

But when I explained my plan, Esme shook her head. "No, Carlisle. We can't leave — if he comes back and finds the house empty, he'll think we abandoned him."

"Esme, love, be reasonable," I said softly. "I can't stay here much longer anyway; Edward knows we have to move on every few years. We'll leave a letter telling him how to locate us; he won't think we abandoned him."

Esme sighed. "Whatever you say, Carlisle," she acquiesced softly.

I ran my fingers through the hair at her temples; I hated to see her like this. What his absence was doing to my Esme was almost worse than knowing that Edward was killing humans…that I had created a monster.

On those worst nights, when even I began to lose hope that he would ever return, I wondered if I had done wrong to change him…or to let him go. That final, fateful night when we had argued and he had left… should I have destroyed him…?

I closed my eyes, the memories pouring over me.

The first time we discussed it had been before I changed Esme, just a year or two after Edward was changed. He had brought up the topic, asking about it almost hypothetically. He seemed to accept my conclusions, and the subject was never mentioned again. Perhaps it was naïve of me to assume he never thought of it.

I certainly thought little of it until seven years later, when he came home red-eyed and defensive. To this day I didn't know the nature of that slip. Had his first taste of human blood been pure accident; a simple matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, as when Esme had slipped? Or had his intentions been truly altruistic; an attempt to rescue someone that went too far? Or…my mind refused to dismiss the darker possibility. Had he had this in the back of his mind ever since our conversation, until finally he gave in, killing a murderer for the express purpose of drinking his blood?

I would never know; in the end, I supposed it didn't matter. He had had his first taste of human blood, awaking his thirst for more. We had argued that night, Edward claiming he was doing humans a service by ridding the world of menaces; I insisting that his true motive was not altruism but thirst. He had stormed out then, slamming the door behind him…and I knew that I had lost him.

Should I have handled it differently? Been more understanding? Could I have stopped him somehow?

Should I have let him go?

"Carlisle?" Esme said softly, bringing me back to the present.

No, I couldn't have destroyed him…destroyed any hope of his ever coming back to us. Because he _would_ return. I had to believe that; had to believe I had raised him better than to turn into a red-eyed killer. I had to believe, for Esme's sake as well as my own.

 **oOo**

Esme looked over her shoulder one last time as we left the empty house. "Carlisle…it feels like giving up."

"No, love," I murmured. "We'll never give up hope." I tucked the key carefully behind the loose shingle where he knew to look. Inside, on the table where he could not fail to see it when he walked in, lay the letter.

 _My Dear Son Edward,_

 _Please know that we have not abandoned you. I will be in touch with Dr Thomas Richards; when you return leave word with him, and we will come immediately._

 _I write this fully believing that you will read it someday; I have faith in that. Read it knowing that you have my full forgiveness, Edward my son. I have not spent a day in which I did not regret my harsh words to you the night you left._

 _I look forward to the day we see you again._

 _Always Your Loving Father,_

 _Carlisle_

 _Edward —_

 _How I miss you, my son! I long to hear you play the piano for me again. You are never far from my thoughts._

 _Esme_

 **First episode next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Twilight alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. (I also have a chronological list of my stories, so you can see where they fall on my timeline.) Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	2. Riding the Rails

**Riding the Rails**

 **Pat**

The Depression had hit our family hard, and like so many families now, we had too many mouths to feed. I was sixteen, old enough to be out on my own. Timmy was only six, but Dad had never liked him since Ma died when he was born. So, it came as little surprise when Dad told me to take him and leave. Though he was gruff, I could tell he regretted the need — for my sake, anyway, if not for Timmy's.

And while keeping my young brother safe and fed in the hard, dangerous world of the hobos, I couldn't help feeling he was better off with me than with Dad, who had been harsher sometimes than the boy deserved.

I kept Timmy as close to me as much as I could, though most of the hobos weren't actually bad men. Some of them even offered Timmy extra tidbits or sweets they had managed to procure.

In one sense there was a comradery among us hobos; in another sense each man was on his own. And Timmy and I were the only ones waiting to catch a ride on this particular train.

I always hated this moment, vividly picturing Timmy falling to be crushed beneath the wheels of a train. Bumming a ride was dangerous enough for grown men, let alone a six-year-old boy.

"Ready, Timmy?"

He nodded in eager excitement.

"One, two, three — go!"

I boosted him up, practically throwing him into the open boxcar door. I jogged alongside as the train began to pick up speed, jumping to catch the door and scramble in myself.

But the train was moving faster than I had thought; I missed my hold and began to fall. Time froze, and in that single second my vision shifted; now _I_ was the one to be crushed beneath the wheels of a train.

But before the vision could become reality, a hand grasped mine, arresting my fall and pulling me on board.

"Thanks," I gasped automatically. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw that Timmy sat cradled in a woman's lap.

I winced as I turned toward my rescuer, pain shooting up my arm.

He greeted me with a smile. "I'm Carlisle Cullen, and that's my wife Esme."

I pressed a hand to my throbbing shoulder. "Pat an' my brother Timmy."

He frowned in concern. "Are you all right, son?"

"Yeah; guess I strained my shoulder a little when you caught me."

He smiled ruefully. "Sorry about that."

I forced a smile that came out a grimace. "That's all right; a wrenched shoulder is better than being crushed under the wheels of a train." Though at the moment, I had my doubts; it felt like hot knives being stabbed through my shoulder, and being crushed would at least be a quick death.

"I've had some medical training; why don't you let me check it?" he offered.

I nodded wordlessly, and he guided me to sit down with a hand on my other shoulder.

I drew in a sharp breath as he probed the injury, biting my lip to keep from crying out in pain.

"It's dislocated," he said finally with a grimace. "I truly am sorry, son."

"Wasn't your fault," I grunted. "You said you had medical training; that mean you can fix it?"

"Yes. It's going to hurt when I do it, but after that it will feel a lot better. Here, I want you to lie back." He eased me down, resting my head on a bag of some sort as a pillow. The jolting of the train hurt my shoulder more now, and I bit back a whimper. "Hurry," I whispered.

He brushed a hand lightly across my forehead. "All right, son, just relax…it will all be over in a minute…" His voice was soothing and almost hypnotic, and I felt myself relaxing in spite of the pain.

Then he jerked my shoulder back into place, and white hot fire exploded up my arm. This time I couldn't hold back my cry of pain a second before everything went black.

 **oOo**

I came to what was probably only a minute or two later, to the sound of Timmy's cries. "Pat! Pat, wake up!"

I forced my eyes open and saw him with a face as white as I was sure my own must be.

"Shh, Timmy," Cullen soothed, pulling my brother onto his knee. "Pat's fine; he just fainted because it hurt so much. See, he's waking up now."

Timmy sniffled. "Pat?"

I managed a weak smile. "Hey, Timmy."

"Here, Esme; take him."

His wife came forward to take Timmy from his arms as he once more turned his attention to me. "How does your arm feel?" he questioned, a finger on my pulse.

 _Some_ medical training, he had said; with his calm, caring bedside manner I wondered vaguely why he wasn't a doctor. "Better," I realized.

"Here, let me help you sit up. Are you feeling any dizziness or nausea?"

"No." Riding a train on an empty stomach always made me a little queasy, but that wasn't worth mentioning.

"Good. I'm going to make a sling for you; you should keep your arm in it for at least a week to let the muscles heal. And I have some powders for pain, if it's still bad?"

I grimaced slightly as he deftly fashioned the sling and settled my arm in it. "Just aches; it's not too bad."

"Mm. Well, when we get off and can get some water, I'll mix one of those powders for you," he promised.

I smiled slightly. "Thanks."

 **oOo**

It seemed longer than usual before the train began to slow; leaning against the wall of the rattling train car increased the ache in my shoulder, and sitting hunched over was uncomfortable for very long. When Cullen nonchalantly seated himself on my good side, I tried leaning against him as unobtrusively as possible. He pretended not to notice, but I still felt embarrassed by it.

I was relieved as the train began to slow, but also worried; jumping off myself with my injured shoulder would be hard enough, let alone helping Timmy.

"Carlisle…will the boys be all right?" Esme asked anxiously, sharing my concern.

"They'll be fine," he assured her easily. "I'll go first with Timmy, then help Pat. Timmy, when I set you down, don't try to keep up with the train; we'll come back for you. Understand?"

He nodded, his eyes wide. He glanced half-uncertainly at me as if for permission, but went to Cullen's side without protest.

Cullen reached a hand to help me to my feet before picking Timmy up. "All right. Be ready for me, Pat…and I'll try not to damage the other shoulder."

I smiled at his teasing remark, then watched as he jumped, landing on his feet with practiced ease. He barely paused to set Timmy down before jogging beside the slowing train. "Give me your hand — now jump!"

He swung me down with a firm grasp that I knew wouldn't let me fall. As he released my hand, I ran back to Timmy while he kept pace with the car to aid his wife.

Just as I reached my brother's side, I heard the shout of a railway officer behind me. "Hey! You!"

"Run, Timmy!" I cried, grabbing his hand and heading for the woods.

"Pat…I don' feel good," Timmy gasped. Glancing down, I was just in time to see him falter and crumple to the ground.

I looked around frantically, and suddenly Cullen was there, sweeping Timmy into his arms. "Let's go!"

I ran after him a short way into the woods, panting as we slowed and glancing back to be sure we had lost the railway officer.

"Carlisle, what's wrong with him?" Mrs Cullen asked anxiously as Cullen lay Timmy on the ground.

He pressed his fingers to Timmy's pulse, and I found myself wondering again just how extensive his medical training was…he looked like a doctor. "It looks like he just fainted." He sat back on his heels. "Pat, when was the last time either of you had a decent meal?"

"Yesterday morning, I guess." Assuming you considered a couple pieces of stale bread each to be a "decent meal."

Mrs Cullen gasped. "You poor children!"

Timmy stirred slightly. "Pat…?"

I dropped to my knees beside him. "Right here, Timmy."

"How do you feel?" Cullen asked him.

Timmy frowned. "My head's all funny…"

"I'm going to carry you for a little while," Cullen told him, lifting him and settling him against his shoulder, then sparing a hand to help me to my feet.

"Esme, after we find a decent campsite, you can go into town for some food; maybe soup ingredients and milk."

"I'll go now," Mrs Cullen countered. "Just leave a trail; I'll find you."

Cullen merely nodded, then turned to me. "You're not feeling lightheaded, Pat, are you?"

I shrugged, then winced. "Not especially."

He frowned, but said nothing as he turned to lead the way.

Within five minutes he had found a small clearing, and had settled Timmy and me against a moss-covered log. "How's the shoulder?"

"All right."

"Sorry, but I can't give you the pain medication until you have something in your stomach."

"It's not that bad when I keep still."

He smiled briefly. "You have a good pain tolerance, anyway." Turning, he began gathering fallen branches to build a fire.

Mrs Cullen returned about half an hour later carrying a basket filled with two potatoes, an onion, a thick slice of ham, half a loaf of bread, and a bottle of milk. In addition, she had a battered cooking pot, two chipped bowls, and a couple of bent spoons. "I hope this will do," she said, a trace of doubt in her voice.

Cullen nodded. "Cook the vegetables very soft," he told her. "Let Timmy have a cup of milk now; Pat can have some of that bread."

As I took the piece of bread Mrs Cullen gave me and bit into it hungrily with a nod of thanks, I found myself wondering how a couple of hobos had had money enough to get all this food. The bread was good, too; a day old at best, not stale like I had expected. I briefly wondered if she had stolen the items, but dismissed the idea as absurd. She was pretty enough; maybe she had flirted and given some sob story about me and Timmy until they had given her the stuff for free.

She cooed softly to Timmy as she held the bowl of milk for him to drink, then turned to chop the potato and onion and set them to cooking in the rest of the milk while she cut up the ham.

As I finished my bread, Cullen came toward me with the other bowl half full of water; guess he'd found a creek or something nearby. "Here's the pain reliever I promised," he told me. "It's bitter, but drink it all."

I obeyed without comment, but I found myself wondering again. Someone with "some" medical training might well be able to fix a dislocated shoulder and figure out that Timmy had only fainted from hunger. But why would a hobo with limited medical training carry supplies like pain medication?

It didn't make sense, but I was too grateful for his aid to question it. He seemed to know what he was doing; that was the important thing.

The cooking food smelled delicious, and when Mrs Cullen finally handed me a bowl of potato soup with chunks of ham floating in it, I could barely wait to let it cool before eating, sopping up the broth with a chunk of bread.

It was hot and filling, and tasted better than a lot of the meals I had had recently. But it could have used salt and pepper, and seemed to be missing some other ingredient that my mother and sisters had used, back when we had the money to eat whatever we wanted. Was it just that she had been unable to get all the ingredients, I wondered, or was Mrs Cullen not that good a cook?

But I was hungry, and too grateful to complain, eagerly accepting a second bowl when Mrs Cullen offered; neither she nor her husband appeared to be eating. Any food that was fresh was good food.

Timmy was falling asleep by the time we finished eating, and Mrs Cullen tucked him under a blanket on a thick bed of leaves.

Cullen poked the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the darkening sky. "Pat, how did someone as young as you and your brother come to be riding the rails?"

I flushed at the faint hint of disapproval in his voice. "I know it's dangerous, sir, but we didn't have a choice." And for that matter, Mrs Cullen was the first female hobo I had ever seen, if he wanted to talk about taking people into danger.

I explained about our situation at home; how even if Dad hadn't insisted I take Timmy, I couldn't in good conscience have left him.

He nodded slowly when I had finished. "Hard times call for hard choices," he admitted. He got up and crossed the campsite toward me. "Let me check your shoulder, and then you should get to bed, too."

I winced slightly as he prodded my shoulder, but he seemed satisfied with what he found. "It's a little soon for another dose of pain reliever, but I can give you some if you need it to be able to sleep."

I shook my head. "I'm fine."

"All right. Just call me if the pain gets too bad at any time during the night."

He helped me lie down next to Timmy, and my little brother curled into me as Mrs Cullen spread the blanket over both of us.

"Good night," she whispered softly. "Sweet dreams."

 **oOo**

When I woke the next morning, Mrs Cullen had breakfast ready for Timmy and me, wherever she had gotten the food.

"I've been thinking about your situation," Cullen said slowly. "This is no life for children."

"I know," I admitted grimly. "But what choice do we have?"

"Maybe more than you think. I met a woman a couple towns back trying to run her farm on her own. She loves children, and she could really use a strong young man to help her on the farm. I'm sure she'd be willing to let you work for room and board — and Timmy's old enough to help with small chores."

I narrowed my eyes. "Yeah? Then why hasn't she gotten some hobo to stay on and help her before?"

"She doesn't trust 'bums,'" Cullen said frankly. "But you're young enough that she won't put you in that category — especially if you clean up a little first — and with Timmy to inspire sympathy…" He grinned. "I don't think you'll have a problem."

"Well, I don't have anything to lose, anyway. I stopped being ashamed to beg for work and even handouts a long time ago."

"How long have you two been out here?" Mrs Cullen asked.

"Two, maybe three months. I don't really keep track anymore."

"We'll have to catch a train back," Cullen reminded me quietly, "but I'll help you and Timmy; you'll be perfectly safe."

"Carlisle, maybe we should stay here until Pat's arm heals."

Cullen shook his head. "It's getting a little nippy at night lately; I want to get them under a roof before they both catch a chill."

I wondered briefly that he didn't have the same concern for his wife, but dismissed the idea. Perhaps he meant to ride the rails further south before the weather got much colder.

 **oOo**

The train ride was mostly uneventful. The movement bothered my shoulder some, but Cullen kept me dosed with the pain powders of which he seemed to have an ample supply, and it remained easily bearable.

Mrs Cullen had brought bread and cheese for Timmy and me, though she and Cullen barely ate any themselves. I wasn't sure they had eaten anything last night or this morning either… Maybe they were letting Timmy and me have it, as I often tried to do for my brother, but that idea didn't quite make sense when they seemed able to get the food so easily. Unless she was stealing it, appeasing her conscience with the thought that it wasn't for herself…

But I wasn't sure I was above stealing myself anymore, and decided not to question the matter of where the food came from or why they seemed to eat so little of it.

"It's not too far," Cullen said when we had left the train; "maybe about a mile." He swung Timmy to his shoulders and started off leading the way.

The farm to which he led us appeared slightly run down, the lack of anyone to tend it obvious. The woman who answered the door to Cullen's knock limped slightly, leaning on a cane, and I wondered briefly if she also had been a recipient of Cullen's medical training. "Why, if it isn't Carlisle Cullen!" she exclaimed in obvious pleasure.

Cullen smiled. "Hello, Muriel. I hope you won't think me presumptuous, but I've brought you two houseguests. This is Timmy," he introduced, swinging him to the ground, "and his brother Pat. Once his arm heals, Pat will be a help to you around the farm."

"And I'm sure I'll be grateful for it!" she replied. "Come in, all of you; have you eaten?"

"Esme and I just came to drop the boys off," Cullen said lightly. "Take care, Muriel." He extended his hand, and she clasped it warmly. There was nothing odd about the gesture, yet I was nearly sure he had slipped her money.

Turning to me, he pulled some packets out of his pocket. "Be careful of that shoulder, Pat. Keep the sling on for a week, and after that start exercising it slowly — don't strain yourself. Take one of these powders in water every night to ease the pain and help you sleep."

"You're really a doctor, aren't you?" I asked quietly as I accepted the small envelopes.

He grinned and winked at me, but disappeared out the door with Esme without answering.

 **Next episode next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Twilight alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. (I also have a chronological list of my stories, so you can see where they fall on my timeline.) Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	3. Hobo Mother

**Hobo Mother**

 **Esme**

I knelt at the edge of a stream, washing out some of our things. As was most often the case, I was the only woman in the hobo camp — or jungle, as they called it for no real reason I could see. But a glare and a soft growl from Carlisle was usually enough to stop any wolf whistles, and most of the men treated me with respect, curbing the roughness of their language.

I looked up to see a man hobbling into view. With bandages wrapped around both feet, he was limping badly and nearly falling.

I considered for a split second what I should do. He was likely bleeding at least a little, and I was barely past newborn stage. But Carlisle was across the camp; too far to explain getting to me quickly. And the smell of stale sweat, unwashed bodies, and infected wounds was distinctly unappetizing, going a long way toward curbing the bloodlust.

In the end, my compassion won out; sure I could control myself if not surprised by the sudden scent of blood, I drew a deep breath and left my laundry to hurry to his side. "Here, let me help you," I said, slipping an arm around his shoulders.

"Thank you kindly, ma'am," he gasped, leaning heavily on me.

I helped him slowly into camp, his steps so obviously painful that I wished I could simply carry him. "Here, sit on this log; let me get you some water."

He smiled gratefully at me as he took the cup. "You're an angel, ma'am."

I touched his cheek tenderly in a motherly gesture; never mind that he appeared twice my age. "You just rest. Carlisle!" I spoke his name softer than the rest, but knew he would hear me; had possibly even been waiting for me to call.

I knew we were living as hobos partly to take my mind off Edward…though nothing could fully do that. But Carlisle had also been concerned about the lack of medical care in the hobo jungles. Believing they would be more willing to accept free aid from someone not actually qualified to practice, he claimed to only have "some" medical training. In the lining of his bag, along with a thousand dollars cash, was a current medical license. In the event he was arrested for practicing without a license, he would produce it and explain his reasoning.

Why he thought we might need the thousand dollars, I wasn't as clear.

"Esme?" he questioned, coming toward me with a look of concern in his eyes.

"This man's feet are hurt," I explained unnecessarily. I gently squeezed the man's shoulder. "This is my husband Carlisle," I exclaimed softly. "He's had some medical training; you should let him look at your feet."

"Be obliged, sir, but I guess there's not much can be done for them without a doctor."

Carlisle smiled easily. "Well, I'll just see what I can do. Esme, love, get me some hot water and then give us a little privacy."

I smiled, not offended by his lack of trust in my control; I knew as well as he did that fresh blood would probably be too much for me. I even wondered sometimes at the wisdom of him letting me out of his reach to restrain me if needed; sometimes I thought his faith in me was greater than my own.

 **oOo**

 **Carlisle**

I checked the man's pulse and temperature while Esme heated the water I had asked for. He was running a moderately high fever, and I could smell infection and dying flesh. I dreaded unwrapping the bandages, fearful of what I would find beneath.

"How did you hurt your feet?" I questioned, stalling for time until Esme was a safe distance away.

"My shoes wore out…cut my feet on the cinders and rocks along the railroad tracks."

"Here; why don't you lie down," I suggested. I helped him recline against the log, then began the slow process of soaking off the blood- and dirt-encrusted bandages.

What I saw was as I had feared; pus-filled sores oozing fluid; bits of cinder embedded in the flesh; strips of dying skin. It was a wonder he had been able to walk at all; the one hopeful sign I saw was that the red streaks of infection extended no further than his ankle.

"Bad, isn't it?"

"Yes," I admitted frankly. "I have some morphine I can give you to put you to sleep while I clean these wounds."

"Thanks…Doc."

I was often called Doc by the other hobos. Most times it seemed simply a nickname resulting from the simple first aid treatment I gave, but sometimes I had to wonder if someone had guessed my secret. Now was one of those times, as I administered an injection of morphine with no attempt to hide the full extent of my training and experience.

Indeed, no one watching my surgery over the next hour could have mistaken my true qualifications. I cut away dead flesh and drained pockets of bloody pus. Picking bits of cinder and stone from deep cuts, I flushed them clean with hot water to which I had added a single drop of venom. I had no idea if it had any healing properties at all when so dilute, but his feet looked like mangled masses of raw meat; I had to try something, and I didn't dare risk a stronger solution. Finally I applied a carbolic acid dressing and wrapped his feet in neat bandages.

I checked his pulse, finding it reasonably steady. He seemed a strong man; I had little doubt he would pull through if I could manage to check the infection. Sighing, I tossed his old, soiled bandages into the fire.

Esme must have been watching; coming up behind me, she slipped her arms around my shoulders. "How is he?"

"Stable…but it may be too late to save his feet, love."

Esme heard the discouragement in my voice. "I know you'll do your best, Carlisle."

"Yes. Are you sure you're all right this close, love?"

"Quite," she said dryly. "Whatever you put on is strong."

"Carbolic acid; it does have quite a scent to it."

The man stirred, and Esme instantly straightened so I could move to his side. "Can you hear me?" I asked softly, a hand at his pulse.

"Water," he murmured.

"Here," Esme said softly, gently lifting his head as she held a cup to his lips.

"Not too much," I cautioned, and she drew it away.

"How are you feeling?" I questioned, pressing a hand to his forehead to check his temperature.

"Feet…hurt."

I nodded. "I'm sure. I'm going to give you some more morphine; a lower dose this time."

"Carlisle, he's filthy," Esme murmured. "Do you think I could clean him up a little…?"

I nodded. "Good idea; cool water will help with his fever, too."

I administered the morphine, then stepped back. "He's all yours."

Esme gently unbuttoned his shirt and began sponging his face, chest, and neck with cool water. I smiled to watch her. I had been right; she needed someone to mother.

 **Next episode next week!**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Twilight alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. (I also have a chronological list of my stories, so you can see where they fall on my timeline.) Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	4. Rendering Aid

I walked one and a half miles through two feet of snow to bring you this chapter!

All right, so it wasn't as bad today as Monday (at least seventy-five to eighty percent of the sidewalks have been cleared, though the ones that haven't are still pretty nasty), and I've been coming to the library every day anyway since my computer at home won't stay on. But that sounded really dramatic and dedicated, and was close enough to being true that I couldn't resist!

* * *

 **A/N: The "medical disclaimer" at the beginning of the story especially applies to this chapter, as I will explain further at the end. Barbie**

 **Rendering Aid**

"Hey, Doc!"

At the call, I looked up from checking Hal's feet. In the beginning I had nearly despaired of saving them, but two days ago there had been no new dead tissue to trim off, and yesterday I had begun to see signs of healing. He would not lose his feet entirely, but whether he would ever be able to walk without breaking open the scar tissue was more than I could say. There was only so much I could do…

"What is it?" I questioned, pushing thoughts of Hal's feet out of my mind even as I finished bandaging them. There was no scent of blood or illness about the man, and he didn't seem to hold himself as if he was in pain.

"I was choppin' some wood for a woman 'bout a mile up the road. She's got a sick son an' no money for a doctor, so I told her 'bout how you studied medicine some."

"So she asked you to bring me?"

"Well, not exactly; I said I would, an' left while she was arguing. Once you're there, I think she'll let you see 'im; sounds like he's pretty bad."

I nodded, getting to my feet. "Coming, Esme?"

Esme, having returned to my side when she saw the danger of blood was past, appeared torn.

"Hal will be fine," I assured her. "If he needs anything, he can call one of the others." Most of the hobos had seemed sympathetic to Hal's plight, perhaps realizing it could as easily happened to any of them.

"Then I think I will come with you," Esme decided.

"Absolutely no trying to walk, Hal," I reminded him again.

He grinned weakly. "I know, Doc. And believe me, I don't even want to try."

"I'll be back to check on your feet this evening," I promised. "Lead the way, Dick."

 **oOo**

"This is the man I was tellin' you about," Dick explained when the woman answered the door to his knock. "Miz Myers, Carlisle Cullen an' his wife Esme. Doc, Miz Arietta Myers."

"Pleased to meet you," Mrs Myers murmured, frowning worriedly. "It's kind of you to come, but I'm not sure…"

"Dick said your son is ill?" I prompted gently.

"Yes; he needs a _doctor_ , but we don't have the money…"

I heard the stress she put on the word and winced inwardly. "I was six months shy of graduating medical school when my funds ran out," I explained. "And before that, I had several years' experience helping my grandfather with his practice; he left his medical bag to me when he retired."

She still looked dubious, and I was nearly ready to produce my diploma and license when Esme stepped forward, laying a hand on Mrs Myers' arm. "Arietta, if your son is ill, isn't any medical care better than none? And Carlisle is really very good."

She drew a deep breath. "All right," she said in a low voice. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to let you have a look at him."

Dick touched his cap. "I'll be off then, ma'am. See you tonight, Doc."

I nodded briefly and rested a hand on Esme's back as we followed Mrs Myers into the house.

Her son lay in an upstairs bedroom, a boy in perhaps his mid-teens. His face was flushed and sweaty with fever; he tossed his head restlessly on the pillow, murmuring deliriously. I wondered at the callous self-centeredness of a doctor who could refuse to treat him for lack of the money to pay his fee, or perhaps at the pride of a woman who wouldn't ask charity even for her son. Or was it possible she didn't realize just how sick he was? Perhaps even willfully ignorant of it, I mused as I stepped forward to lay my hand on the boy's pulse. It was racing, but weak and thready; I could hear his labored heartbeats.

"How long has he been ill?" I questioned, taking my thermometer from my bag and slipping it under his tongue. I could get a quicker, more accurate reading by touch, but I had to keep up appearances.

"Three days…and the day before he was complaining of a sore throat."

"Did he complain of a headache or upset stomach?"

She shook her head. "He didn't seem to have much appetite, but I thought it was just because it hurt to swallow."

I checked the thermometer, my lips tightening at the reading. I pressed my hand to his forehead, hoping the instrument had been off, and found that if anything, it was running a little cool.

"Have you been doing anything to try to get his fever down?"

"Yes…I've been sponging him with cool water, but it doesn't seem to help. Dr Cullen, please…"

I smiled tightly; watching my professional manner, she had forgotten that I claimed not to have completed my training. "I'll do what I can," I promised. I had my suspicions already what was wrong, but I would complete my examination to be sure.

"Are there any other symptoms you're aware of?"

"He said he ached all over…especially his joints."

Esme saw my expression, and without a word put a comforting arm around Mrs Myers as I looked inside Roger's throat and felt for any swelling. Finally I took my stethoscope out and spent unnecessary minutes listening at his chest; I could already hear his struggling heartbeat far too clearly.

At last I straightened, draping the instrument around my neck with a sigh. "I'm afraid your son has rheumatic fever, Mrs Myers."

Mrs Myers gasped softly, and Esme's arm tightened slightly around her. "Is it bad, Carlisle?" she asked softly, concern mingling in her eyes with an absolute trust in my skills that I wondered if I deserved. For a fleeting moment, I wondered — if it came to it — if Esme would want me to change Roger as a replacement for Edward.

But no. Nobody could _replace_ our son…and I still believed he would eventually come home.

"I'll do what I can," I promised quietly, knowing it was both no answer at all…and all the answer she needed.

Mrs Myers crumpled against Esme, and Esme gathered her close, letting the woman weep on her shoulder. "Shh," she soothed. "Carlisle's wonderful…if anyone can save your son, he can."

I glanced at her sharply, wondering if there was a hidden meaning to her words or if I had only imagined it. Surely she knew that if I "saved" Roger _that way_ it would be no comfort to Mrs Myers, who could never know the truth of what I had done.

But in her eyes I saw again the trust in me; she believed I could render the question moot and save the boy human. As I bent over him to force a dose of medicine between his lips, I could only hope she would be proven right.

I worked over Roger steadily, trying to reduce his fever and ease the strain on his heart. As the sun began to set, I recalled that I had promised Hal I would return to check his feet.

"Esme, love, can you run back and let Hal know that I won't be making it back there this evening?"

"Of course," Esme agreed instantly. "Do you want me to stay there, or come back here?"

"Whichever you prefer."

Esme glanced at the woman she had been attempting to comfort all afternoon. "Arietta needs me more than Hal does," she said softly.

I nodded, pleased at her decision. "When you get back, you can fix her a light supper and try to get her to eat."

Esme murmured her promises to return in Mrs Myers' ear, then darted to my side for a quick kiss before leaving the room.

 **oOo**

With Esme's gentle coaxing, Mrs Myers ate most of the meal she had prepared, but firmly refused when Esme suggested she go to bed.

I looked up, reading the exhaustion in her eyes. "Mrs Myers, you need to rest, or you'll be sick as well."

She shook her head dully. "I couldn't sleep anyway."

I turned from Roger for a moment and took a packet from my bag, handing it to Esme. "Mix this with a glass of water for her; be sure she drinks it all," I murmured. "Mrs Myers, I have some sleeping powder here for you. There's really nothing you can do for your son, and I'll call you if anything changes. Now go get some rest, and that's doctor's orders."

"Carlisle!" Esme hissed even as I realized my mistake. But Mrs Myers was too exhausted to notice my claiming of the title, and got up woodenly to go with Esme. That slip was enough to tell Esme how worried I was, I realized; she knew I never got a word of our cover story out of place, though the detail I went into varied according to need.

When she had settled Mrs Myers in bed, Esme returned to my side, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Is there anything I can do, Carlisle?"

I shook my head. "If I thought God would hear the prayer of a vampire, I would ask you to pray."

Esme softly kissed the back of my neck. "I believe God must hear the prayers of anyone as dedicated to saving human life as you are, Carlisle."

Perhaps she was right, for I knew my skill alone was insufficient to save Roger, yet by morning he was resting more comfortably, out of immediate danger though still far from well.

I did not consider the improvement enough change to warrant calling Mrs Myers; she needed the rest, and there was still little she could do.

She came in on her own shortly after sunrise, looking slightly better rested but still drawn with worry. "How is he?" she asked in a whisper, as if she feared the answer.

"Sleeping," I responded. "He's still very ill, but his fever's come down some and he seems to be resting fairly comfortably."

"May I…sit with him for a while?"

"By all means," I responded, holding the chair beside the bed and offering Mrs Myers a hand as she sat. I rested my finger surreptitiously against her pulse for a moment, still concerned that she might become ill herself.

"Esme, love, why don't you fix some toast and a cup of tea for her?" I suggested.

"And you…you should eat something," Mrs Myers murmured, gently rubbing her son's hand.

"I ate a little while ago," I lied glibly. Forcing myself to eat always seemed worse when it took food from humans who had little enough as it was.

Mrs Myers glanced at me as Esme left the room; I knew she would prefer to be left alone with her son, if only for a few minutes. "I'd like to stay where I can keep an eye on him," I told her frankly, and she nodded her acceptance.

An ear was more accurate, as I continued to monitor his heartbeat that was still far too labored for my liking.

I heard the rhythm of his heart and breathing change slightly before Mrs Myers noticed him stirring prior to waking. "Ma," he breathed hoarsely, his eyes struggling to stay open.

"Oh — Roger!" she exclaimed.

I allowed her to have a few moments with him before stepping forward. "Ma'am, I need to check his condition," I told her softly.

"Of course," she replied, getting up from the chair. "Roger, this is…Dr Cullen; he's been taking care of you."

Her slight hesitation told me she had remembered my original claim, though I was still unsure of whether she disbelieved it or simply afforded me the title the same way the hobos called me Doc.

"How are you feeling, son?" I questioned, stepping forward and resting my hand on his forehead for a moment before taking his wrist to feel his pulse. He was still running a moderate fever, though I was pleased it hadn't risen any since I last checked.

"Throat…hurts."

I lightly cupped his chin in my hand. "Open; let me have a look."

His throat remained red and inflamed, the scent of infection fairly strong.

"Are you still feeling achy, son?"

"Some…not as bad."

"Good." I bent over his chest with my stethoscope for some minutes, knowing I had to give a show of being as concerned about his heart as I truly was. If she saw my grave attention to it, perhaps it would come as less of a shock to Mrs Myers when I eventually had to tell her what I feared was true.

Roger's eyes had drifted closed by the time I draped the stethoscope around my neck, though the pattern of his breathing told me he was still awake. "Still with me, son?"

"Mm."

"I need to check your abdomen; let me know if anything hurts. And I apologize for my cold hands."

I felt carefully over his body, checking for swelling or tenderness that would be signs the illness had settled in other organs as well. Fortunately, such did not seem to be the case.

I glanced toward the pajama shirt hanging on the bedpost as I finished. "Mrs Myers, if I lift him up, can you slip that top on him?" Now that his fever had come down some, I thought it best to guard against his getting chilled.

"Of course," she murmured, slipping the garment over her son's shoulders with a mother's practiced ease. I fastened only two of the buttons, allowing his feverish skin to breathe.

After making sure he was comfortably propped up on the pillows, I turned to pour a dose of medicine. "I need you to take this, son."

He accepted the spoon obediently, grimacing as he swallowed.

"And now some water."

"Hurts," he protested weakly as I held the cup to his lips.

"Just take small sips," I encouraged gently. "Take your time."

He managed to drink about half the water before turning his head away, clearly exhausted.

I set the cup aside; he was still dehydrated but for now I wouldn't push him. Swallowing with a throat that raw had to be akin to the burn of thirst in a vampire.

I rested my hand on his forehead, more to let the coolness soothe him than to judge his temperature, which had changed only a fraction of a degree. "You rest now. Sleep." I brushed his hair back from his flushed face and turned toward Mrs Myers.

"How…is he?" she whispered.

"No worse. The next time he wakes up, I'd like to try a little nourishment; maybe a boiled egg, very soft, or a little pudding."

"I'll make a vanilla custard," she said instantly. "It's his favorite, and I still have nutmeg for it."

I nodded, wondering what the difference was between pudding and custard. "That should be fine, though I expect he won't be able to eat much of it." But I knew that soft foods like custard could be more soothing to a sore throat than plain water.

"Is he really going to be all right, Carlisle?" Esme asked softly when Mrs Myers had left the room.

I glanced up. "Did I say he was?" I asked quietly.

Esme saw the pain in my eyes and came to slip her arms around me. "I know you'll do everything you can for him," she murmured. Once again I wondered if there was a subtext to her words; it seemed almost an echo of Elizabeth Masen's plea for me to change Edward. _Edward_ … Where was my son now? I wondered. With a deep breath, I drew myself back to the present; brooding over Edward would not bring him back any faster.

"I think he'll survive," I clarified, "but he may never be fully healthy again."

"If anyone can help him, you can," Esme murmured, gently rubbing my shoulder.

No, I decided, she wasn't hinting that I should change him. Esme knew I would only change those who were actually on the point of death; she was too compassionate to ask me for a son at the expense of his mother. She simply meant exactly what she had said; that she believed me to be the most skilled doctor there could be.

 **oOo**

"You should get some sleep, Dr Cullen," Mrs Myers said in a low voice when she returned from preparing the custard. "You were up with Roger all night; you must be exhausted."

"And how many nights were _you_ up with him?" I countered, unable to think of a plausible denial. I couldn't even claim Esme had spelled me and let me catch a few hours' sleep; not when even this morning I had refused to leave the room.

"Not like you were," she insisted. "I sat by his bedside and dozed some; you were _up_ tending him all night long."

And how did she know that, I wondered. But it was true it was probably safe enough to leave Roger for a short time now. "All right," I gave in. "But come get me as soon as he wakes up again, or if there's any change at all, good or bad."

I beckoned Esme away with me; if I had to spend some time pretending to sleep, I much preferred to do it in the company of my love.

 **oOo**

Roger seemed slightly stronger the next time he woke, and by evening I decided it was safe to leave him in his mother's care for the night. I left her with instructions for giving him medicine and water, and promised to return the next morning.

"I — don't know how I can ever thank you, Dr Cullen," Mrs Myers whispered with a catch in her voice.

I smiled tightly, feeling I had done little enough for her to thank me.

Esme laid a comforting hand on my arm; she knew I always felt personally responsible when a patient didn't recover fully, even when rationally I knew there was nothing more I could possibly have done. Worst of all were the times when I knew I could have saved someone if I had moved at vampire speed; it felt like stepping back and callously watching them die to preserve my cover.

"You did all you could, Carlisle," Esme murmured as we left the house.

I merely nodded. This time, it was true.

"What do you say to hunting after I check on Hal's feet?" I questioned.

"I am getting thirsty," Esme admitted, sounding a little ashamed of herself; it bothered her that she always needed to hunt before I did, no matter how many times I reminded her that I had been adhering to this lifestyle far longer than she had. Truly, I believed her innate compassion would override her base instincts except perhaps in the presence of fresh blood, but I took her hunting once or twice a week to be sure…and simply because I couldn't stand the thought of my Esme facing discomfort.

Hal's feet were continuing to heal well; I was more optimistic than ever about his recovery. Perhaps the venom I had used had helped… I toyed briefly with the idea of trying to create a venom-based serum that would repair Roger's heart without turning him into a vampire, but knew that even if it were possible, it would require extensive testing before I dared use it on a human. And if something went wrong…if word ever got back to the Volturi… I shuddered at the thought. I might well be considered the best friend Aro had, but Marcus and Caius wouldn't allow him to exempt me from discipline if I acted imprudently.

 **oOo**

We returned to the Myers' house early the next morning, shortly after dawn. I questioned Mrs Myers closely, and found that Roger had spent a fairly restful night. Mrs Myers had given him the medicine as I prescribed, but had managed to get some sleep herself, though the dark circles under her eyes still concerned me. Perhaps Esme and I should have stayed at least one more night, but I had thought it best to play human, needing sleep after tending Roger all night long.

He lay dozing when I arrived, but roused at the touch of my cool hand on his forehead. He was still running a slight fever, though nothing close to the dangerous levels of two nights ago. Once more I examined him carefully, and listened to his heart for long minutes, longer perhaps than even a human would have needed.

"Is…he all right?" Mrs Myers whispered anxiously.

I pulled the covers up to Roger's shoulders before answering. Maybe I was a coward, waiting for her to suspect and ask before I told her what I had known from the start. Or perhaps I had been hoping I was wrong; that the damage would heal with the passing of the acute stage of the illness.

"There's…some…damage to the heart muscle," I admitted quietly, still holding back; the damage was actually quite severe.

Mrs Myers gasped softly. "But — it _will_ get better?"

"With rest and freedom from strenuous activity, perhaps," I allowed cautiously. "But cardiac damage of this sort in rheumatic fever patients can linger for years, and is often permanent. Certainly I would advise he be under a doctor's care for the foreseeable future."

"You?" Mrs Myers whispered.

I smiled sadly. "I'm a hobo, Mrs Myers, not a doctor," I reminded her gently.

Mrs Myers merely nodded, the proud flash in her eyes telling me she wouldn't be asking the town doctor for help.

"The man must be an-an ogre!" Esme hissed as we left the house later that day. "To deny anyone medical care because of _money_ …"

"Don't judge the man before you meet him, love," I advised her lightly, though I had harbored similar thoughts myself. "Even doctors need money to live; perhaps he fears offering free care to one person will lead to everyone leaving their bills unpaid."

Esme growled.

"Or perhaps he has not offered because he has not been made aware that there's a need," I continued. "I think we should pay the man a visit, Esme my love."

"You could scare him into treating Roger," Esme mused. "That glare of yours when you think someone has been taking human life lightly can be quite intimidating…"

I chuckled. "I was thinking more of vampire charm and bribery, love…if offering to pay Roger's doctor and medicine bills can exactly be called bribery."

I asked several people the way to the doctor's office, and paused as we neared the building. "Esme, love, maybe you should wait outside. I doubt there's a back door; if someone comes in to have a cut taken care of, the only way out will be past them."

Esme shook her head. "No; I'll be fine," she insisted.

Sometimes I wondered if she and Edward pushed themselves too hard to live up to my standard…perhaps that was why he had snapped and gone "traditional." "Love, it's all right if you can't handle it; _I_ wouldn't have intentionally exposed myself to fresh human blood at your age." Indeed, I had been still more or less avoiding most human contact at that point, venturing near their habitations only when I was well-fed.

Esme graced me with a dazzling smile that made me swallow, longing to sweep her into my arms and run for the sheltering privacy of the woods. " _You_ didn't have a strong mate ready to restrain you if you lost control," she purred.

I sighed; explaining a suddenly feral Esme would be almost as bad as having her slip. Maybe worse; I had never yet been forced to… _take care_ of witnesses, and prayed that I never would.

But surely if Esme was somewhat prepared for the enticing aroma, she would at least be able to maintain an outward semblance of calm. "All right. But stay close to me."

Esme slipped her hand into my arm. "Always, Carlisle."

"Hello?" I called as we stepped into the cool, dim waiting room.

A man stepped out a few minutes later, perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties and a bit on the heavy side. His face was kind, but his eyes were tired, shadowed with concern. "I'm Dr William Phelps; what can I do for you?" He glanced between Esme and me as if trying to determine which of us was the patient.

I gave him a smile calculated to put him at ease. "Might we have a word with you…in private?"

"Of course; come this way," he invited, leading us into a room that seemed to double as a study and consulting room. "I'm sorry I can't offer you much in the way of refreshment; would you care for a glass of water?"

"None for me; love?"

"No, thank you," Esme murmured.

"Then please, have a seat. What seems to be the problem?"

"Nothing, in the way that you mean."

His brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Then if neither of you has need of a doctor, why have you come to me?"

"I'm Dr Carlisle Cullen, and this is my wife Esme," I introduced; for the first time his eye fell on my black medical bag. "I've been living as a hobo, claiming not to have finished my last year of medical school; I thought it likely hobos and others with little money would be more likely to accept free medical care if they believed I wasn't fully qualified to offer it."

"Interesting theory," he mused, "though it still doesn't explain what you need from me. Were you hoping for some supplies, or did you want my permission to treat patients in this town?"

I grinned a little ruefully. "Actually, I already have. I apologize that I didn't think to ask permission first." Even had the need to do so occurred to me, I doubt I would have wanted to take the time with Roger so ill…and I chose not to tell Dr Phelps my uncharitable thoughts of him.

He waved my apology aside. "Don't worry about it; the important thing is that they received medical care…as long as you _are_ qualified." He fixed me with a glare that might have intimidated me if I had been human.

"Fully qualified and licensed, though I would appreciate it if you would keep that to yourself."

"As you like," he agreed. "But you still haven't told me the reason for this visit."

"Do you know the Myers family?" I questioned.

He nodded heavily. "Arietta and Roger; it's been hard on them since Horace left."

"Well, it's even harder now," I said grimly. "Roger has rheumatic fever. I was just in time to get him through the acute stage, though it was practically a miracle, but now his heart's damaged. He needs long-term medical supervision, but I won't be in town much longer, and Mrs Myers is too proud to call on you herself."

Dr Phelps sighed. "Like so many of them…" he murmured. "I'll keep an eye on him; I don't think she'll refuse me if I'm actually standing on her porch. And if she can't accept charity, I'll let her pay in as small amounts as she needs to." He shook his head. "Even aside from their pride, if I gave everyone free care I'd soon be in the same position as you…"

Esme looked at me, her heart in her eyes, and I grinned. We had sorely misjudged this man, though the knowledge that raised our opinion of him lowered it of Mrs Myers. Pulling out my pocketknife, I opened my bag and neatly cut the stitches that closed the slit in the lining. Reaching inside, I slipped my hand beneath the diploma and medical license and pulled out a plain white envelope. "Here," I said, tossing it carelessly to Dr Phelps.

He opened it and looked inside, then looked up, his face white. "There's a _thousand dollars_ here!" he gasped. "I thought you claimed to be a hobo, young man!"

I chuckled. "I claimed to be _living_ as a hobo," I corrected. "Use that for yourself or your patients, however you think best."

He was still stammering his thanks as Esme and I got up to leave.

 **Ending next week!**

 **A/N: I started writing this with no idea what Roger's illness was, and found out about the same time Carlisle did. It was two days before I could get to the library, so I had written most of it before I was able to look rheumatic fever up on the internet, and consequently I got some things wrong (the most obvious being that it sets in two weeks after the sore throat has already gotten better). At some point I may go through and rewrite it to be more accurate, but I like Carlisle's line about a throat that sore being akin to vampire thirst so much that I'm not sure I want to! Barbie**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Twilight alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. (I also have a chronological list of my stories, so you can see where they fall on my timeline.) Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


	5. untitled ending

At our appointed time, I went into town, asking use of a telephone to get in touch with Dr Thomas Richards; to let him know what supplies I needed and to which town to mail them.

He alone of my former colleagues knew what I was currently doing; I had chosen him to tell because he had come the closest to being a friend to me, sympathizing when Edward left home though of course he didn't know the reason. He understood my logic in what I was doing, but quite frankly thought I was crazy and never failed to tell me so when I called.

Of course, obtaining supplies had never been my true reason for keeping in touch with him; I could easily have gotten them some other way. But I could not leave Edward without a way to get in touch with me.

I truly believed someday he would return, yet when I asked about him it was never with much hope that I would hear anything other than Dr Richards' apologetic negative response. He would eventually return, yes, but after nearly three centuries I was well aware that time moved more slowly for a vampire; he might not return for decades or even a century — though I prayed for Esme's sake as much as my own that it wouldn't be that long.

I dreaded returning to the hobo jungle after one of the phone calls. Worse than my own disappointment was to see the hope in Esme's eyes snuffed out time and time again. She had not yet lived long enough to learn my patience, or perhaps her belief in Edward was even greater than my own. I believed he would return _someday_ ; she believed it would possibly be today.

On the night after another disappointment, I would hold Esme as she sobbed tearlessly on my chest, my own voice too broken to whisper words of comfort. I would mentally call Edward as loudly as I could, showing him Esme's grief and begging him to come home. I knew there was little chance he was in range, but what chance there was was worth taking.

 **oOo**

On this day I ran back from town, barely restraining myself to human speed. "Esme!" I cried, bursting into camp.

She barely had time to look up before I caught her around the waist, spinning around in giddy excitement. *

"Edward?" she breathed, hope shining with wonder in her eyes.

"He's come _home_!" I exulted, laughing. Lifting Esme, I tossed her briefly into the air, heedless of any audience I might have.

Esme laughed joyously, as I had not heard her laugh since the day Edward left, and I spun her around once more.

"What train goes to St Paul?" Esme asked eagerly.

"Forget trains; they're far too slow. As soon as it's dark, we're _running_ to St Paul!"

The stars shone down on us that night as we ran hand in hand cross-country, leaping fences and swimming rivers with wild abandon. Edward had returned…and so once more we truly had a home.

The End

 *** Illustration can be found in the "Twilight" folder of my DeviantArt account.**

 **Next week I will start posting Edward's story, "Shadow Child."**

 _I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!_

 _Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Twilight alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. (I also have a chronological list of my stories, so you can see where they fall on my timeline.) Thanks for your understanding! Barbie_


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